Dear sweet Jesus above, that giggle is adorable. "Oh, Canada! Nice! I have an auntie there, but she sounds less French and more... American I suppose. Wow, that sounds awful," Jim laughed. He could only laugh. He wasn't sure if it were racist or not, but if he played it off as bad wording or a poor joke it may slide easier. "It's alright, don't worry about it. Excuse my cultural ignorance," he replied to her apology. He watched as the group turned to walk up the road, but was startled by yet another voice. A female voice. Oh good, less junk in the inbox, he thought privately. The ratio stood at 4:3, guys outnumbering gals. Unfortunate odds. Jim had never been totally successful with the fairer sex, often relying on the girl liking him as much as he her. He wasn't particularly well versed in managing to win a girl over. Dom, however, did not have that issue. He was all talk and the women adored him. Jim hadn't seen Henri in action before, due to the distance, but if the shy personality he was displaying at the moment signaled anything it was that he was going to be the life of the party once he got a drink in him. He didn't know anything about Paul besides his name. He seemed a lot like Jim though, self-contained but not introverted, outgoing but not the centre of attention.
Jim watched as the dark-haired mechanic babbled away. There was a certain... odour about her. Sweet and strong and... dank? Yeah, there was that smell he definitely smelled. She described the road they would have to travel to get to the cabin, a long winding road of straight where one step off the path would make you right next to the path and not lost at all. "I'll wait for you, I ain't afraid of no bears," Jim joked, putting his hands up like a boxer and balancing on his tip toes. He grinned and dropped his arms by his sides. "But if there are bunnies I'm not staying. You can fend for yourself. I got bit by a bunny once," Jim said, half-joking and half-explaining. They were cute but he sure wouldn't be trying to feed one ever again, not after it chomped through his right index finger nail in one swift motion when he was about six. Vicious little balls of adorable. "Henri, you want to come with me?" he asked his cousin, knowing the answer would be yes. Jim didn't feel comfortable leaving him alone with others he didn't know, and Henri would probably prefer to stay with Jim anyway. He turned to Dom. "Hey bud, can you take this for me? Put it in the room with nicest view," he said, glancing at the Canadian girl unconsciously and then swinging his backpack at his friend.
The swimmer followed the mechanic, Casey was her name, to her home. Nice by all standards, if not a little dusty on the outside from gravel and dust being ejected from underneath tires and the admittedly lacking wind to carry it to the outer walls of the house. He smiled as she welcomed them into her home. Stepping inside, it was nothing remarkable. No dead bodies hanging from the rafters, ready for carving. No inbred deformed mass murderer. Everything so far was horrifyingly normal, this house included. It was homey, with newspapers and tv remotes lying where they would in his house, a fully functioning washing machine, a cold fridge. It kinda flipped his whole perception of these backwater towns on Jim's head. Horror culture had been lying to him for years, apparently. According to real life, not every backwoods swamp town ate roadkill and murdered tourists. The idea of staying in these woods seemed much tamer, but also much more exciting now. "You have a lovely house, Casey," Jim said as he leaned against the kitchen counter, taking in all the sights and smells of the homestead.
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